None Loved Her More
by sicklyscribe
Summary: Their love for her would kill her – but not before her selfish heart ruined them all. Canon-compliant. Klatia & Talijah. "I'd say there was one who loved her at least as much…"
1. Chapter 1: Elijah

This fic is mostly from Elijah and Klaus' perspectives, but not exclusively. I reserve the right to add a little omniscience and Tatia-perspective now and then, because that's how this story just happens to flow.

* * *

 **Trigger Warnings:** Attempted gang-rape, child abuse (will edit/add as the story progresses, if needed)

 **Background:**

Tatia had a child by undisclosed circumstances, and was cast out of her community. She found her way to the natives (the werewolf pack led by Klaus' biological father) and they gave her sanctuary for a time, though they did not accept her into their fold for obvious reasons. For the safety of herself and her child they helped her build a home far removed from both Viking and native communities, where she could fend for herself.

Mikael's village was aware of her presence and she was seen from time to time in various gathering places and invited to attend feasts and celebrations and barter for goods amongst them. She was considered to be of the lowest class, but she was not shunned as she had been in her home community.

 _"_ _Every boy of age desired to be her suitor…"_

* * *

He had intended to bring back game for the feast, but luck had not been on his side. It had taken much longer than usual to catch up to the trail of elk that he had spotted earlier. They had been just outside of his father's usual hunting grounds, and, unwilling to return empty-handed, he followed the beasts into unfamiliar territory. He had been aiming, at _last_ in sight of an oblivious bull elk, when the sudden thrashing of a bird taking flight caused him to lose his focus.

Elijah re-strung his bow and took a step back, trying to find his prize once more – but the earth beneath his feet crumbled away. After a sound beating from trunks, saplings, rocks, and his own bow, he finally found himself lying on his back at the bottom of the ravine. He could almost _hear_ his brothers laughing at him – Niklaus especially. The imagined jests forced him to smile and ease himself to a sitting position. His bow had been severely splintered and nearly snapped in two, and he had lost several newly-made arrows, but he thanked old gods and new he had not met with one of those stray arrows as he fell.

By the time that he had managed to scale the ravine, salvage what he could of his arrows, and return home, the festivities had long since ended. His sister would be cross with him, he knew, since she was still learning the summer dances and jumped at every opportunity to practice them. Their father's gaze was petrifying whenever he saw his only daughter stand up with a man who was not one of her brothers. The music and the drums and the fire seemed to inspire so much hope in her young heart, though – hope for a true suitor some day. She knew, as Elijah knew, that their fellow villagers were not worthy of courtship or marriage. Mikael assured them constantly that more Lords of the Old Country were soon to join them, bringing their sons and daughters with them. Meanwhile, five of his six children were of marriageable age and had never once been courted.

Elijah could not help but hear the shouting as he approached his home. His blood froze as his pace quickened; his bruised and scraped muscles tensed with fear. Mikael was likely drunk, and it did not take drunkenness to inspire violence in him. " _Niklaus, what have you done,_ " Elijah mouthed the words to himself, as well as a prayer – he knew his brother had done nothing.

But when he reached to open the door it burst open from the other side, where he saw not the familiar family violence, but three men leading his father out of the house. His father gave him a cruel, disapproving glare before stalking purposefully into the woods, his hunting knife bared and glinting in the moonlight.

Shocked, Elijah cautiously entered the family home, still half-expecting to see his little brother bloody and beaten on the floor. Instead, Niklaus sat at the table, staring out the open door with an angry drunken gaze as the four men disappeared from the light of the village.

"Elijah!" Rebekah shouted, running to embrace him. "What on earth happened to you!" the fourteen-year-old beauty pouted at him when he could only somewhat return her hug. "Where were you? You said you would be back in time!"

"I fell like a fool, Rebekah, and I didn't catch a thing – but tell me, what do those men want with Father? What's going on?"

Niklaus still looked dazed – dazed and furious, as his eyes met Elijah's. "They were joking all night about how they were not satisfied with their wives. They were baiting the unwed men, they must have joined as well…" Nik could not finish; he could only slam his fist to the table. Elijah looked to Finn, who seemed to be equally concerned – for once.

"Finn?"

"The men came to get Father because a group of drunks supposedly vowed to seek Tatia after the festivities. About half a dozen of them are nowhere to be found."

Elijah's hand had been on Rebekah's shoulder – now he gripped her tightly. Tatia, the young mother, the beautiful girl who had fled her home. Tatia, who kept a tiny shack in the woods, to raise her infant son away from scrutiny. Elijah remembered the excitement of the young men when they heard she had decided to attend the festivities. Elijah could not deny that he had been eager to see her as well, try as he might not to notice the girl as he would never be permitted to court her.

She must have looked too beautiful for her own good.

Niklaus was finally able to speak once more. "They said _you can't ruin a ruined woman._ "

Seething, Elijah released his hold on his little sister. He went to the wall where the swords were hung, but before he could take his own from its sheath Finn spoke up. "Father forbade us to go, Elijah," the added _why would Nik and I still be here if that were not the case?_ implicit in his tone. "Four more men already left to find the bastards."

While Elijah was happier now with the odds, he could not help but feel sick to his stomach. The thought of sitting idly with his brothers in this moment was repulsive to him. But Mikael had forbidden them to go. And Mikael was not to be disobeyed.

"Is that Elijah?" his mother's voice was a comfort, her face even more so, as she emerged from her room of herbs and tinctures. She sighed with relief, and he tried to smile for her. "You know I don't like you going hunting alone," she said. Her eighteen-year-old son shook his head with embarrassment – he could not say she had been wrong to worry as he usually did. He had been lucky to find himself able to walk after his fall. "Your brothers told you what has happened?" she asked, looking from face to face.

Elijah nodded. But, then he noticed – one brother was missing. "Kol – " of course Kol wouldn't have been one of the ones who went after Tatia, he was so young, but then, he loved to drink…

"He's in the back," his mother said quickly, reassuring him before he had a chance to voice his fears. "His jests tonight did not fall upon forgiving ears."

Some things never changed. "He's not too badly hurt?"

Esther shook her head, "Nothing I cannot fix, my son. But it would seem you need some tending to as well?" She reached out to touch the scratches on his face, but he turned away.

"It's nothing, Mother. I'm sure Kol is worse off than I."

Rebekah giggled, "Much worse."

Elijah sat with his brothers, head in his hands, waiting for his father to return.

* * *

 _When Mikael returns, he recounts the night's events: he and the other men stopped the would-be attackers from breaking down Tatia's door, though the house was severely damaged. The men were taken back to their wives and mothers to be dealt with, though punishment was far from steep considering Tatia's social status._

* * *

He had been wrong to assume she would be asleep just because it was late at night – it had been too long since he himself had woken several times a night at his infant siblings' cries. As he approached the tiny house and heard the fussing and wailing even before seeing the place, he knew there was no way he could approach undetected. He stopped before entering the small clearing that was considered to be her property, trying to decide how to proceed.

It was too late to hide himself by the time he realized that the cries were not coming from inside the house, but behind it. A dark figure with a child at one hip and a basket at the other turned the corner, and froze. He could feel her gaze, even if he could not see it, as she scanned the dark treeline. If he was still enough then maybe –

She dropped the basket, hitched the wailing child higher on her hip, and held out her hand. From what he could tell, she was brandishing a small dagger. She hurried to her door and opened it gingerly, balancing the baby with her arm as she used the fingers to pry at the lock. As it creaked open, Elijah could see how it barely held to the hinges, it was so warped, and the splintered doorjamb made a ragged outline of the single room inside. He wondered if the lock even worked.

The girl was in and out in the blink of an eye; the cries were muffled now as she closed the door behind her, shutting her child inside. She was still holding the dagger, but it was lax at her side.

He had retreated to better cover in the short moments her back had been turned. She scanned the wood again. Then she went to her abandoned basket and took it to the door, where she knelt and began to work. Elijah was puzzled at first – what was she doing? Why work through the night, with her child crying? And then he realized the same reason he could see so clearly so late at night was the same reason she was awake and toiling – _the full moon was tomorrow night._ Though she was encouraged to do so, she did not join the others in the caves every month.

She was trying to fix her door before the natives turned into wolves.

So much for leaving a short-sword at her door to protect her from yesterday's dangers. It would prove worthless against the danger she faced tomorrow. Elijah slipped away as quickly and quietly as he could, a new idea in mind.

The following morning he returned to see the young mother still at work. Her baby sat on a deerskin beside her, fumbling with twigs and feathers. As Elijah entered the clearing, the child reached to tug his mother's wild dark hair.

"Mathias!" she scolded, turning to put a feather in his tiny fingers. "Mama's not a toy."

As she spoke she noticed she was not alone. When she locked eyes with Elijah he was taken aback – the fierceness in her gaze was startling. She saw his burdens, though, and guessed his intention. The fierceness turned quickly to suspicion. "What do you want?" she barked, holding her baby's hand as he gripped her finger.

Elijah stopped several paces from them and set down the lumber, twine, and tools. In the daylight he saw the true state of her hut – old scratches and bite marks rimmed the sturdy foundations from the beasts of the moon. But there was new, and very human damage at her door - not just warped, but splintered nearly into several pieces.

Before he could answer he realized what she had been doing the whole night – having no tools to fix the door, she had woven a thick mat of saplings around the splintered planks, and was lacing the entire door with wolfsbane flowers. His mouth hung open in what he knew was an idiot's smile. The baby cooed, noticing him for the first time, and made a serious face. Elijah's smile broadened to see the little man scrutinize him so.

When she realized he was smiling at her son, Tatia's countenance softened instantly. "You're here to help me," she said, relieved. "But how did you know I needed all of this?"

He chose not to mention he had been there that night. "Mikael is my father. He told us what… what happened."

She narrowed her eyes, judging him for a second time, trying to see past his supposed good intentions. "And does your father know you're here now?"

Elijah shook his head. Mikael may have had a hand in saving her the other night, but showing her charity was a different matter entirely.

Tatia smiled, and Elijah felt his traitorous heartbeat quicken. "You're his second son," she said, half-guessing. "I don't remember seeing you last night."

"Elijah. My hunting trip took an…unlucky turn. I made it back long after the celebration ended."

He could tell she wasn't sure if he was telling the truth, and of course she had no reason to believe him. But she had noticed his absence – _had she noticed him previously?_ He cleared his throat. "I can't make you a new door before moonrise," he admitted, "but I can try to strengthen what you have. The wolfsbane – the wolfsbane's brilliant. If you'll show me how to take it down, I'll put it back up when I'm finished."

He could tell that she was flattered, though she remained composed as she stood and brushed the leaves and petals from her threadbare blue dress. "You have my thanks," she said, and he wondered if she knew how beguiling that slight smile was. He had never had any cause to believe the rumors of the unwed seductress, but they nevertheless came to mind when her dark eyes kept meeting his so invitingly.

"You wouldn't – I mean, I really need – " she sighed and put a palm against her forehead. "I haven't slept."

It shouldn't have surprised him, but the way she said it suggested much more than the things he already knew. It sounded as if she hadn't slept since the festival, not only because she had needed to work quickly, but because she had not been capable.

"O-of course," Elijah stammered. "I'm afraid it isn't quiet work," he admitted.

She shook her head, pulling a single sapling out from the top of her door-weave, and the entire mat pulled easily away. He got the impression that she had done this before. "It won't matter," she sighed and reached down to gather the baby boy and the deerskin. "Knowing he'll be safe tonight will be my lullaby." She closed her eyes and smiled, resting her chin on her baby's head.

Elijah couldn't help but smile back, and try as he might, he couldn't make the smile leave his face even after she went inside.

He did as much work as he could with the door mostly closed. Once the battered planks were as fortified as he could make them, he looked to the sorry hinges and latch. It had been several hours since Tatia had gone into the small house, and when her son inevitably woke her, he said a silent prayer for the tired mother.

"All right, all right, _Lord_ Mathias," he heard her say in a sleepy voice. "Always so hungry." The door was cracked now, so that Elijah could work on the doorjamb. He tried not to notice - he tried his very best not to pay attention to the woman as she sat facing her baby's cot and took him into her arms. The hungry cries soon gave way to hungry, hungry gulps.

The next glimpse he stole – was it by accident? He told himself that it was – her hair was parted over one shoulder, the other was bare, her sleeve falling down her arm. He could not look away - not because the sight was in any way sensual, but because he could see every bone, every twitch of muscle under her skin. He had been so focused on _not_ looking at her, _not_ seeing her body that he hadn't realized she was just skin and bone. Of course the baby was always hungry – his mother had nothing to give him.

She must have noticed the working sounds had ceased; she craned her neck over her shoulder, and when she saw him watching she dragged the collar of her dress back up to cover her skin.

"Forgive me," he said instinctively, then wondered if maybe silence would have been more appropriate. Now that he had spoken though, he couldn't keep himself from asking – "When was it you last ate?"

She had turned away from him once more. His hands had been on the doorjamb in pretense, but now he pushed the door open a tiny bit further and let his hands fall to his sides. Still no answer.

"Tatia?" it was the first time he had used her name.

The young woman sighed with aggravation, setting the child down into his bed and working quickly to re-tie the front of her dress. "I ate at the festival."

"Two days ago?"

"I've had an unlucky couple of days. Don't trouble yourself."

"You haven't eaten in two days, and you're telling me not to _trouble_ myself?"

She turned to face him. "The natives bring me their feast's leavings every month. The day after the full moon I will have more food than I can eat in a week."

Elijah's eyebrows rose, and so did hers – she had expected him to leave her alone at that. "What do you eat for the rest of the month?"

Her chin rose, indignant. "I set traps. They've been empty lately."

"You don't trade for meat or grain in the village?"

She crossed her arms. "I would rather not barter when I have only myself to offer, contrary to prevailing opinion."

Tatia had known exactly what to say to silence him. For a few moments, she was successful.

"I – "

She cut him off with a shake of her tired head. "No."

He eyed her curiously, and she saw the question on his lips before he could even open his mouth to speak.

"I know what you are going to offer, Mikael's second son," she rolled her eyes. "And I say no to you like I say to every other handsome man come to provide for the woman of low morals out of the _goodness_ of their _heart_." She shrugged. "I thank you for your help today. You're a sweet sort of boy. But you should go back to your father's house and I thank you not to come again."

"This _handsome man_ doesn't expect anything from you. I'd be a fool to even think of it."

Her crossed armed tightened around her thin form. _She manages to be the most beautiful girl anyone's ever seen, and yet she's barely got enough food to keep her and her baby alive._ "You'd be a fool, would you?"

"I'd never be permitted to court you," he said, as if the answer were obvious.

Her eyes widened. "And you're the type of boy not to expect anything from a girl unless he could _court_ her."

Elijah nodded.

He didn't expect her to be convinced, but he must have underestimated the earnestness of his expression. "Oh." Her head tilted to the side, the mass of tangles and tight braids sliding over her shoulder and falling behind her back. "You're a rare thing, Elijah Mikael's second-son."

"So are you," he said, and he wondered if she could see him blush.

A thick dark brow rose to challenge him. "An unwed mother?"

Elijah pursed his lips, trying not to notice the honey tint in her dark, questioning eyes. "Who isn't afraid of men."

The levity drained from her face. "Only when there's nothing to fear."

Now he crossed his arms to match her. "And you know the difference?"

She blinked slowly, looking down. Her head lifted with a nod, and the faintest of smiles.

"Then would you like me to find you something to eat?"

She nodded once more.

* * *

He doesn't know if he should knock at her door when he returns later that day. He drops his quiver and bow – borrowed from Finn – loudly, so that he does not have to decide. The makeshift door creaks open, and two unruly dark-haired heads peek out to make sure their visitor is the friendly one.

Elijah feels awkward when she does not smile in greeting, she does not meet his eyes for more than a moment at a time. He apologizes for only bringing back two hares. He does not explain, but as he hunted he realized that a full belly would do neither Tatia nor her child much good if they were to be made dinner themselves when the moon rose.

As he returns to his carpentry, Tatia lights the fire pit to the side of her home. As before, her son sat beside her on his worn fur blanket, making clicks and gurgles as she skinned and trussed the game.

He didn't notice her watching him as he worked, because she made sure of it.

Before long the summer air was filled with the sounds of a crackling fire – and a fussing infant. Elijah stole glances as Tatia quickly hung the meat over the flames so that she could give her son some attention. After a moment of inspection, she figured he must be hungry. She moved to sit against the side of the house – outside of Elijah's vision. Between his hammer throws he heard frustrated muttering.

" _You don't want to eat? So why are you always trying to eat my finger? Hm?_ "

The baby wailed in response.

" _Lord Mathias, I swear by old gods and new you will be the death of me._ "

Elijah had stopped working, fixated on her rambling. He stood to go and speak with her, but right as he was about to turn the corner of the house he realized she had been trying to feed the baby. She had moved against the side of the hut for a reason.

She had heard his footsteps though, and sat her crying son on her lap as she knotted the top tie on her dress. "Is something the matter?" she stood, rounding the corner and nearly colliding with Elijah.

The two immediately stepped back – Elijah awkwardly brushed his hand against his forehead, eyes downward. "Nothing – I –" he shook his head, knowing what he was about to imply may get him slapped. "Your child, it could be his teeth are coming in."

"Oh." Tatia blinked, shifting her weight. She gulped. "I should have thought of that."

This was almost worse than being slapped. "I could be wrong, of course. I just – I'm second of six, and –"

"No, that must be it. He's always putting things in his mouth, but that's nothing new, so," she frowned, bringing her baby's face to her own. She kissed his nose and whispered an apology. "Poor little Lord."

"I'm afraid there isn't much to be done," he said gently, eyeing the teary-eyed babe with pity. "My mother had half a dozen remedies and they rarely worked. Well." He smiled at the memory.

When he saw Tatia incline her head, prompting him, he found his voice once more. "One night when my youngest brother was a baby she gave up and let him cry. We couldn't sleep, so my brother Klaus went to his cradle and just started massaging his gums with his finger. Turns out that was the only thing that could soothe him."

She took his sweet memory in with the scrutiny and desperation of a tired mother. Shifting her son so that she could see his face, she let him take her finger and tug it into his mouth. Just as she began to gently rub, her head shot up and she looked to the cook fire – neglected far too long.

Instinctively he reached for the child, as if it were his sibling, as if she trusted him as Esther had trusted him. Again she turned her head, locking eyes with him in challenge.

Just as he began to pull back, right before he could say _my apologies_ again, she made a decision. Before he could react, he held a crying baby in his arms, and the mother was running towards her dying fire and partially cooked dinner.

The infant wailed, outraged at having been abandoned with this stranger. "I'm sorry, little one," he mumbled, re-positioning his grasp so that he had a finger free to attempt to soothe the teething pain. He was far from annoyed at the cries – the poor child just wanted his mother, and was probably in pain. He laughed gently and hitched the infant up higher in his arms.

He snuck a glance at Tatia, turning the meat on the spit, and he realized she must have given her son her dark eyes, but their shape belonged to someone else – Mathias' father.

Elijah's smile waned as he thought of the range of possible tragedies and injustices that could have brought Tatia and her son to a state of starvation in a shoddy cabin on the edges of society. The mystery was endless – but he could see it plain as day in the baby's face, in the features that were not Tatia's.

The wails turned to whines as Elijah diligently worked at the baby's tiny gums, and maybe he was just imagining it, but he thought he felt the bumps of bone close beneath his fingers. He hoped Mathias' discomfort – and by extension his mother's – would be over soon.

But he knew that cutting teeth was the least of this small family's 'discomforts.'

Tatia took the hares from the fire and broke the skewering stick in half, one roast on each side. As she approached Elijah and Mathias, she flicked her fingers across the surface of the meat, so famished she could hardly wait for it to cool. She sat once more with her back to the wall of her hut, and inclined one of the skewers towards him.

He shook his head, and sat down beside her. "That's for you," he said, when she practically poked him with the sharp end.

For once she did not taunt or challenge him, only leaned the stick up between them so that she could use both hands to eat. Elijah rested his head against the wall, closing his eyes against the sun.

Nightfall was still several hours away, and Elijah had nearly finished, but in that moment he wondered if there was any way he could justify staying longer.

"Does _anyone_ in your family know that you are helping me today?"

The question was quiet. Elijah opened his eyes to see that Tatia was reaching for the second hare; her eyes were on him.

"No. But it's not a secret," he shrugged.

He thought that was the end of the conversation, so he stood to fetch her son's blanket, to sit the child with his mother whilst he finished the door.

"Maybe it should be." Her voice was stronger now, and it startled him. When he caught her gaze this time, she looked determinedly into the dying cook fire.

He wanted to grab her shoulder, make her look at him, but that was too forward. He let his words be enough, hoping she would believe him. "I'm not ashamed to be here, Tatia."

"I still don't understand _why_ you're here," she said softly, and for the first time that day she sounded like the girl she was, not the girl who had to become a woman far too soon. What was she – his age? Younger?

"You don't believe someone would want to be kind?"

Her gaze flicked to him before settling back on the fire. "Plenty of people want to be kind," she shrugged. "Most people don't get around to it."

Elijah thought of his father – preaching sentiment as weakness, sympathy as wasted time. Beating Niklaus bloody.

"It isn't fair," he said, still thinking of her statement on much broader terms. The wind blew a frizzed lock of hair over her eyes, though, and watching her tuck it back brought him back as well. "…That you have to live as you do."

"And you want to make things fair for me, Mikael's second son?" she teased with a bite in her tone. "You cannot change the way the world sees me. You cannot change what I've done."

"I know I cannot give you fairness," Elijah looked down at the baby, still chomping his gums against the pads of Elijah's fingers. "But if I cannot give you fairness, why should I not show you kindness?"

Her head lifted briefly before falling into her hands, and he saw a slight smile. But when she straightened, her expression was staid. "It's almost dark," she said, reaching for her baby. "You and your sweet words should finish up and get back to your home."

They fumbled for a moment, all arms and shoulders as the little boy cooed for his mother, and her cheek brushed against his nose as she leaned in to take her child. Later, he would realize with much embarrassment, he had gulped rather loudly in response. In that moment all he knew was that his mouth was dry, her skin was soft, and she had been right about the waning daylight.

After another hour of work, Elijah was confident that the mother and child would survive the night. It took everything he had not to beg her to come to the tunnels with everyone else, but he knew what her answer would be. And as much as he hated to realize it, he was beginning to understand why she would not feel safe trapped amongst the villagers.

She helped string the curtain of wolfsbane over the door once more, the wilting petals falling in her hair and over her dress. She was fierce and sweet, wary and bold, and the dichotomies enthralled him. Tenderness had been stirring in his chest this whole long day, and the blue tinge of twilight and the blue petals and her blue dress and her brown, brown eyes were bewitching in every way. She had been right, all along; he wasn't just doing this out of the kindness of his heart. This woman was exquisite, and she had him well on his way to learning what it was like to fall for someone, and fall hopelessly.

"Thank you for today. For everything."

He wanted to say it was his pleasure, but he knew how stupid that would sound. "Stay safe tonight. Please," he slowly moved to reach for Mathias' hand, and the baby met him with his own tiny fingers. "Both of you."

In that moment, as Elijah gently shook Mathias' hand goodbye, Tatia could not breathe. She gulped in air when he looked back at her, tentative, gentle as ever. "W-we shall."

She had been quelling the urge to kiss his cheek. The desire – _instinct_ , rather – sent stabs of fear through her blood and bones.

As he walked away (also quelling an urge – the urge to look over his shoulder to see her one more time) she cursed his strong jaw, his hunting, wise-beyond-his-years gaze… his kindness.

"You're the only man I need in my life," she told Mathias, parting his lips as he fussed so that she could massage his achey gums. And it was true, unconditionally. Whether or not she _wanted_ …well, _want_ was a different matter altogether.

And Tatia had never been one to deny herself anything – or any _one_ – she wanted.

* * *

 _Let me know if you have any suggestions for chapter two! It will be from Klaus' perspective, featuring a flashback to the festival that Elijah missed, and the cutest, awkwardest flirting that I am capable of writing._


	2. Chapter 2: Klaus

The river always looked clearer to him, after a beating. Even on days when his eyes were bruised nearly shut, even on days when his ears wouldn't stop ringing… Everything calmed in him when he could watch his own reflection, crystalline, against the current.

Today, his wounds were not by his father's hand. As always, though, it was his own fault. He couldn't help but feel proud of himself for throwing the first punch, despite the shame at having undeniably lost.

In the rush, he'd seen her face, blurred red from the blood in his eyes. She had been worried. She had been worried for him!

And she would have danced with him. _She would have danced with him._

Now, after the full moon and after he'd left his father's sight, the marks of that damn brawl were quickly beginning to show on his skin. His mother had masked them with a spell the night of the feast – lasting just long enough for Mikael to agree to let him go hunting to make up for Elijah's failed trip.

Klaus had made it two miles before the cuts and bruises began to blossom into view.

Hopefully, his father would be so caught up with Kol's own fight and the attempts on Tatia's honor to hear about his least favorite son's own indiscretions on the night of the feast. Hopefully, by the time he returned, Klaus' new bruises would have faded in to match the old, and no one would be the wiser. It really had been a stroke of luck that just as he had taken on his own set of drunks, Kol had made his own brawl after being caught cheating at dice. Esther had made sure that no one suspected that he had used magic.

Their mother made sure that a lot of people didn't know a lot of things.

Klaus set his bow, arrow, and pack of supplies at the riverbank and took off his boots, wading in to the icy water. He made his way to a bed of reeds, determined to get a few strong, straight stalks that he could use to practice for the bone flute he was planning on carving for Elijah. Klaus had decided that he should do it in wood first, so that when he stole one of the bones primed for weaponry and other tools, he would only need one try to get it right.

Realizing only just now how shaky his balance was on his sore legs, Klaus carefully stripped his shirt off and threw it onto the bank with the rest of his things. If he were to fall, he'd be glad of at least one dry piece of clothing when he got back to the trail.

Directly after he heard the sound of his shirt hitting the ground, though, another sound came from the trees. He turned towards the sound, but slipped… and with a _slap_ he hit the water, face-first.

When he managed to get up on his knees, sputtering and blinking and shaking his ears out, a loud laugh was pealing across the bank. Klaus pushed the wet hair out of his face to see Tatia, laughing so hard she had to brace herself against a tree.

Klaus began trudging out of the water, his head half down in embarrassment, but he could not tear his gaze from the sight of her. She was so gorgeous, and she was _smiling_ …

"Well met, son of Mikael," she said as her giggle died down, gasping for air.

There was a moment where he thought he might try to pretend he hadn't just doused himself in the river. But then water dripped over his eyes, and he could not help it any more. He burst out laughing, hiding his face in his hands, and then someone started laughing with him – but it wasn't Tatia.

Peeking through his fingers, Klaus could see a little dark head over Tatia's shoulder. Her son was strapped to her back, and his high-pitched happy squeals reminded him instantly of Henrik as a newborn. But this wasn't Henrik, this was –

"Mathias thinks your laugh is funny," Tatia said with a smile, craning her neck to kiss the tiny hand resting against her shoulder.

Klaus didn't know what to say, because she was coming closer, and the smile waned from her stunning face. He realized she was looking at his torso, his arms, the red and purple evidence of what he had done while half-drunk.

"I'm so sorry…" she began, but he shrugged. He didn't have words to explain to her that this was more his natural state than anything else.

She was looking at him expectantly, and he hardly realized she was waiting for him to say something. What color was that, in her eyes? It was darker than honey, but it was _bright_ in way that dark things weren't…

Then her lush lashes fluttered, covering her eyes from view, and he startled himself into a halting response. "I- it's not, uh, I'm really –" he had to close his eyes and take a breath, praying she would not laugh at him again, "I'm Niklaus – Klaus – I'm Klaus."

When he opened his eyes again, she was smiling. It was that proud, coy smile she'd taunted him with that whole feast night. "I know."

* * *

 _\- Three days before -_

Rebekah giggled and twirled beside him, catching his hands in her own and coaxing him into merriment as they danced around the bonfire. Her laugh was contagious, it made him feel invincible – though the day-old bruises on his ribs would suggest otherwise.

When the song ended, Klaus wrapped an arm around his little sister's shoulders and kissed her temple. She pushed him away with embarrassment, but it only took a moment before she leaned back into his side and caught her breath. "Nik," she looked up at him with a frown, "Elijah's not here yet."

She was right. Every few minutes, Klaus scanned the crowd for their brother, but he had yet to show. It struck him that maybe he had been too exhausted after his hunting trip, but Rebekah hadn't let anyone forget that her brothers promised to dance with her. And Elijah wouldn't let his little sister down without a much more serious reason. "He'll be here, Bekah. He probably just lost track of time."

Rebekah scrutinized him with petulant eyes, well aware that he was trying to placate her and not telling her his real thoughts. "Fine. His loss. I'm going to get some food and then you'd best take Elijah's turn."

"No more ale, though, remember what Mother said."

"I know what Mother said, Nik!"

The young man sneered at his little sister as she struck her tongue out at him and walked away. When he knew she wasn't watching, he smiled. She really was a menace, but he wasn't going to let her know he loved that about her.

He scanned the crowd once more for signs of his older brother, but – _she was really here!_ The other men hadn't been lying when they said… when they said _Tatia_ was going to come tonight.

She had barely stepped into the village commons before she was surrounded, and Klaus could barely catch a glimpse of her, but her face was unmistakable. There was fire in her dark eyes, there was sunlight when she smiled. Her cheeks were gaunt with hunger, but rosy all the same, and her hair… her _everything!_

Tatia walked into the crowd, and every man paid her worship with their gaze. She seemed to enjoy it – her smile was coy and light, from what he could catch. Two men offered their arms at once, and Klaus strained to hear her laugh from where he was standing.

Someone stumbled into him, clapping him on the shoulder and howling with laughter of their own. " _Brotherrr!_ C'mon, you can do better than this."

"Kol, you're much too drunk for me to even think about listening to your advice." More like _I'm_ not drunk _enough_ to even think about listening to your advice, he thought to himself.

"I see you!" the ale-soaked adolescent pointed a finger at him, "I see you, seein' her." He winked rakishly before twisting with discomfort as his stomach turned.

"Please leave before you vomit on me," Klaus patted his little brother's shoulder, and tried to back away to safety, but Kol latched an arm around him and hung on him like dead weight.

"I resent the certainty with which you condemn my self-control. Besides. Why would I want to do anything else, dear brother, when I can stay here with you and watch you _not_ dance with someone?"

"I'm dancing with Rebekah again soon, in Elijah's place," Klaus pointed out. "For some reason _I'm_ the one who has to take the extra shift."

"Oh, that's fair, y'see brother, because _I'm_ the one who made sure Elijah's share of ale go drunk-en."

"Obviously."

"Ahhh! I hit a nerve, I've _been_ hitting a nerve, I'm bothering you, aren't I? How about you shut your little brother up and go grab yourself a partner who isn't your bossy monster sister." Kol belched before continuing, "You see, brother, there's this woman who just got here who you can't stop staring at and if you don't ask her to dance then _I will_ because it'd be a disgrace to the family name if a Mikaelson wasn't in the running for _that_ pretty bitch…What do you say, you think she's looking for some work tonight?"

It would be a disgrace to the family name if a Mikaelson _did_ associate with such a woman, but only Kol could tease about such things. "She's not a whore, Kol," Klaus said, almost embarrassed to be defending her. It wasn't exactly the popular thing to do.

"Aw, c'mon, Nik, no honest girl walks like _that,_ " Kol smiled, eyeing the swing in Tatia's hips as she walked to the tables carrying the night's feast. Klaus couldn't help but notice as well.

His throat went dry and his heart beat loud in his ears, and it took a moment for him to find his voice. "I didn't say she was honest," he shoved Kol away as his brother laughed. Tatia was conversing with a young man - the carpenter's son - and Klaus had never wanted to be someone more than in that moment, desperately imagining himself in the other man's place.

"Gunnar!" Kol yelled, ambling to where his friend was pouring himself more to drink. For a moment Klaus watched the two idiots prance and posture about each other, just to make sure Kol wasn't going for more ale, but his gaze was unstoppably pulled back to the dark-haired beauty with the olive skin and sparkling eyes.

What nearly knocked him on his ass, though, was that she was looking back at him.

He knew he should look away, he knew he was already making a fool out of himself, but she smiled at him. It was such a sly little smirk, but it was so real, so blindingly bright Klaus couldn't help but smile back. After the initial dumb grin, he was able to match her artful smirk with no small amount of pride.

She bit her lip as her smile widened and Klaus forgot what breathing was.

And then she turned, so quickly he was seeing stars; she was walking away from him, her thick curly hair swinging with every light-footed step…and her hips swaying in the way that made men think she was a whore.

He found himself stepping towards her, falling into her enchanting magnetism and feeling giddy in its pull. Was she – _she was!_ – she looked back at him, with that same smirk, and she turned and kept walking away. _Why was she walking away?_

Just as he realized that Tatia was headed for the ring of dancers, Klaus found himself walking into his little sister's outstretched arm. "Niklaus, you promised," he heard her tease. She shook his shoulder, and forced him to look at her. "Please don't tell me you were mooning after the hermit wench?" she whined, looking truly hurt. "Niklaus, please."

Klaus rolled his eyes – he really was not drunk enough to handle his family tonight. He took his sisters hand, and pulled her towards the fire. "You are so spoiled."

"You didn't answer my question."

Klaus was looking over her shoulder, and Tatia was standing at the edge of the ring of dancers, a suitor on each elbow. She saw him taking Rebekah into the ring and frowned, and Klaus had seen thousands of frowns in his life (he lived with Rebekah, after all) but Tatia's frown was bar none the most charming one he'd ever seen.

 _Sister_ , he mouthed over Rebekah's shoulder, and he flicked his gaze towards her head as he twirled her in his arms. Tatia's frown turned into a wide smile, not the smirk from before. As he and Rebekah spun around the bonfire, he lost sight of that stunning smile, and when he made the full circle, she was gone. Klaus accidentally found himself tripping over Rebekah's feet as his eyes combed the crowd, and she was yelling at him, but he did not seem to care. When the song ended, Klaus caught a flash of Tatia's green wool dress as she fell into her dance partner's arms. Acutely aware that _that could have been me,_ and already too late to claim the next dance (she was too popular to have a moment alone) Klaus found himself at the kegs.

He was on his way to getting very, very drunk when Kol found him once more, demanding that he play dice with the other men near the spit fires. Klaus had nothing better to do, though games of luck were not really his forte, so he said yes. But just before he was about to follow his brother to the other players, he noticed a figure in a green dress approaching him.

When he realized that his brother wasn't beside him, Kol turned to see Klaus, unmoved, with a goofy, tender grin on his face. The younger brother traced the older's gaze to the approaching Tatia, and crowed under his breath: " _You go, Nik!_ " Kol nearly skipped away, hoping his brother was just sober and just drunk enough to impress the girl.

And the beautiful girl in question was barely a stone's throw away with gorgeous mischief in her eyes when Klaus finally willed himself to move. He had not even landed his first step in her direction, though, before the space between them was filled with several raucous drunks, all yelling over each other in merciless succession.

"Behold, the fair _maiden_ from the wild!"

"If it's more sons you're after, I'd be happy to help provide…"

"Oh, you don't want that! Your bastard'll be wailing in the cradle while she feasts and fu-"

It all happened in a blur.

As Tatia's face fell, Klaus' fists flew. He was just drunk enough to think that taking on three men with nothing but his outrage and his already-bruised muscles was a good idea.

* * *

Mathias turned out to be Klaus' saving grace. The baby began to fuss just as the awkward, halting pleasantries between Klaus and Tatia had begun to fade into something more like a goodbye. She had asked after his family, he had asked how old her son was… She gathered a full pail of water, which was her reason for coming to the river in the first place, but something kept her at the bank. They were looking to the water, both a bit unsure, when Mathias made it clear that he wanted to be the center of attention.

"I just fed him, I swear," she said, reaching behind herself to undo the cloth that strapped her baby against her back. Mathias had two fistfuls of her wild black hair, though, and was not very helpful with the process. "Ow! Come now, little Lord, come now…"

Klaus was reaching behind her before he thought to stop himself. He caught the little one's gaze and began working at his tight tiny grip. Tatia's hands halted and froze in the air when she realized what he was doing, and Klaus was so distracted by the long, slender fingers that he nearly forgot his task.

With some coaxing, Klaus worked her hair out of the baby's hands, and gently pushed the spiraled mane over one of her shoulders. Flower petals fell from the tangles, and Klaus marveled at how soft her hair was... despite the mess and the mass.

Her hands began to move again, hitting his accidentally as he retreated back to his stance beside her. Klaus nearly fell out of his skin; such a jolt went through him. "Thanks," she said, sitting down on a patch of grass as her son's fussing turned to full-blown screams.

"I'm afraid all the game has been scared away," she called over the crying, nodding her head towards Klaus' pile of supplies. "You'd best be on your way if you want any luck before dark."

Klaus felt the chill of the water drying on his skin, the drops from his hair running in rivulets down his back, and he felt a boldness in him that was too tempting to waste. He sat down, settling beside her, and licked his lips with a quick flick of his tongue. "The way I see it, love, I've already been lucky today."

She elbowed him with a roll of her eyes, but her olive cheeks tinged red, and he felt victory burn in his chest.

As Tatia rocked her son in her arms, Klaus noticed her eyeing his chest again, but could not tell if it was in pity or – dare he even think it? – admiration.

"You didn't have to do that for me, you know," she said quietly, after the baby's crying died down. "It was a stupid thing to do."

So it had been pity, then. He leaned back on his hands, looking up at the clouds. "Maybe it was a stupid thing that I had to do."

"No such thing."

"Oh really?"

"You didn't _have_ to fight them just to protect my honor. It's not like I have any, around here, after all." Tatia grimaced, laying her son down in her lap as he began to nod off to sleep.

Klaus sat up; shifted to face her. "Did you ever think that maybe," he had to stop himself, he had to say this just the right way – "maybe I wanted that dance so badly, I would have swung at anyone who got in my way?"

Tatia huffed out a laugh, muffling it with her hand to try to keep the baby calm. She shuddered with little silent giggles, and this time Klaus was the one with the proud smile.

She composed herself with considerable effort. "Even old ladies, or kids at play?"

"Oh, love, _anyone_."

She bit her lip, and Klaus' heart (and other things) did a jump. "You must have really wanted that dance, then."

"Desperately." He dared to wink.

But Tatia's face was graver now, her bright dark eyes were sad. His merry deflection could not hold out long, it seemed. "The worst of those bruises are old."

When he said nothing, she prompted again. "Klaus…what happened to you?"

He gulped, choking down words that were all too painful to speak out loud. Instead, he leaned down and touched his finger to Mathias' palm. The sleeping baby grasped it, brought it to his little chest, and Klaus looked up at the child's mother. They were close now, eye to eye, and he could feel her breath on his cheek.

"I could ask you the same," he said softly, touching a tiny black curl on the baby's head before pulling away.

Klaus and Tatia exchanged something then in their gaze, then, something that was much more than understanding. It was bitter, but it was beautiful, harsh, but harmonious. The young man stood, wordlessly reaching his hand to the young mother to help her stand as well.

There was a question there, and whether it was _it's getting late, can I walk you home?_ or _do you feel this, too?_ the answer was _yes._ Irrefutably, _yes._

* * *

 _I finally finished! Forgive me if it's a bit rough, I didn't use a beta this time around. I'm especially nervous as to how Klaus came out, so constructive criticism is very much welcomed. Stay tuned for more fluff, with some of the tension of the triangle beginning to form. The following chapters will start to have multiple perspectives (Klaus' an Elijah's) so fair warning, it will not be like these first two._


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